


Atypical Conflict Resolution Practices of SHIELD Agents and their Handlers

by shinykari (meinterrupted)



Series: SHIELD Agents and their Handlers [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Marking, Possessive Behavior, Scent Marking, Topping from the Bottom, Translation Available, alpha!Phil, omega!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:03:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinterrupted/pseuds/shinykari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because they're bonded doesn't mean that it's all smooth sailing for Clint and Phil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atypical Conflict Resolution Practices of SHIELD Agents and their Handlers

**Author's Note:**

> After "Unusual Mating Practices...", I couldn't stop thinking about how gender relations in this universe differ from the standard in most ABO stories. I wanted to write something that would highlight the equality between alphas and omegas, that even though they're different, neither is necessarily more powerful than the other. I hope that I succeeded.
> 
> **Due to the nature of the Alpha/Beta/Omega trope, these stories may contain what could be construed as (mildly) dubious consent due to natural chemical aphrodisiacs, biting and marking within the context of a sexual relationship, mild D/s themes, possessive behavior, as well as implied mpreg. Please read responsibly.**
> 
> This story has also been [**translated into Chinese**](http://www.mtslash.com/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=82011&page=1&extra=#pid1441881) by the lovely [**mjollmur**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mjollmur/pseuds/mjollmur). [Forum registration required to view.]

"Agent Barton!" Clint stopped short several feet past Phil, his body as tense as one of his bowstrings. His hands clenched and unclenched, but he didn't turn around. Phil sighed internally and gritted his teeth as he closed the distance between them. "Agent Barton, with me," he commanded as he drew even with Clint.

"Yes, sir," Clint spat at his back, falling in step behind him.

Everyone they passed in the halls either avoided their eyes entirely, or took one look at them and turned away. Clint was still wearing his field uniform, and the black and maroon fabric was stained with blood and dust. Because the idiot avoided medical whenever an injury wasn't life threatening, the ragged, shallow gash on his forehead was still slowly weeping blood. Phil's Dolce suit was ripped and bloody as well, with enough concrete dust sprinkled on it that his jacket looked more grey than black, and his face was smudged with dirt from where he'd wiped the sweat away with filthy hands. He imagined the two of them looked like a fearsome pair, even before one got a good look at their paired murderous expressions.

Phil unlocked his office door and opened it, stepping back to usher Clint in before him. Clint stepped into the room, avoiding Phil's eyes, and flopped sullenly into one of the guest chairs, rather than his usual perch on the soft couch. Phil walked around the desk and sat in his computer chair, not saying a word, letting the silence linger until Clint felt compelled to fill it.

"I had the shot, I took it, the end," Clint said, finally.

Phil sighed, determined to keep his emotions out of this conversation. "You were ordered to stand down, Barton. You chose to disregard a direct order from a superior officer--" Phil held up his hand to quell Clint's immediate justification, "and that is insubordination, no matter which way you slice it. Considering your lengthy history of such actions, I would be well within my rights to have you suspended from active duty until such time as I see fit to reinstate you."

Clint glared up at him from his slouch. "Are you going to suspend me, Agent Coulson?" he asked, emphasizing the title. It made Phil's chest tighten; in the field they were still Coulson and Barton, but since they'd bonded during Clint's last heat, everywhere else they were Phil and Clint. Phil was using Clint's title and surname in the hopes that he would understand this reprimand wasn't personal; Clint seemed to be using Phil's to show him that he was definitely taking it that way.

After another long stretch of silence, Phil sighed. "I should," he said. "It was pure dumb luck that your insubordination didn't get someone killed, Clint."

"I had the shot, Phil!" Clint spat, straightening in his chair and leaning forward. "You know I had the shot. I never fucking miss, Phil, _never_."

"This isn't about whether you could make the shot or not!" Phil shot back, slamming his fist down on the desk. "This is about things you couldn't possibly see from your vantage point, that I, as senior agent in charge, could! This is about intelligence you weren't privy to, that I, as _senior agent in charge_ , was! You thought you knew better than I did, so you went off-script, and that's dangerous, Clint. I know you don't give a damn about your own safety--"

"I was fine!"

"--but you're not the only one who is affected by your actions," Phil continued, ignoring Clint's interruption. "When you fired that arrow, the target's bodyguards took action, and the only reason Hansen and Wright aren't full of bullet-holes right now is because those guys apparently can't hit the broadside of a barn! Your stupid recklessness nearly got our people _killed_ , Clint!"

The silence after Phil's last statement was thick and tense. Phil could feel Clint's hurt and anger like a tangible thing, a sharp pain in his own chest, and it took all of his willpower not to reach for Clint's hand, beg for forgiveness, and kiss him until he was breathless and wanting. He sighed and cradled his head in his hands, unable to look at Clint's face. "Maybe... maybe I should talk to Fury about you working with a different handler," he said softly. "Maybe being together and working together is a bad idea."

He couldn't look up as he heard Clint stand, his movement slow and controlled. "Maybe that..." Phil squeezed his eyes shut against the well of emotion as Clint's voice hitched, and he took a breath before continuing. "Maybe that's something you should look into, Agent Coulson," he said, voice flat as he walked over to open the office door. "You obviously would be happier with an omega who follows orders without question." With that final jab, he slammed the door behind him, leaving Phil alone with the echo and an aching heart.

Phil scrubbed his hands over his face, praying that Clint would be in their room later, after they both cooled down. He hoped that they could talk this out, that Clint hadn't finally realized he could do better than a balding, control-freak workaholic who was closer to fifty than forty. Even though bonding was supposed to be permanent, there were always ways around it, with modern pharmaceuticals making it easier and easier for omegas to go without their alphas. It was less simple for alphas; their need to be with their omegas wasn't as physically based, and therefore couldn't be simply medicated away. It wasn't necessarily sexual either; just being around Clint was enough to soothe the territorial, atavistic beast in the back of Phil's mind, and any time Clint was upset, Phil wanted to do anything in his power to make him happy. Even Clint's residual scent in his office was helping calm Phil's irrational desire to hunt the idiot down, apologize for hurting him, then drag him bodily back to their room and fuck him until they were both boneless with pleasure.

All alphas were rootless wanderers, an older alpha had told Phil once, explaining how it had felt when she'd bonded with--and then lost--her omega. "They're our home, Phil," she'd said, smiling softly, her voice impossibly sad. "When you know you have a home to come back to, everything is easier. You don't have to fight all the time, because you have a place in the world. And if you lose your home--well, now you know what you're missing. And it's worse than never having it in the first place."

Phil refused to think about Clint leaving him--he simply couldn't process the idea. Not now, certainly, maybe not ever. He took a deep, cleansing breath, stripped out of his ruined jacket, locked his emotions in a small room in the back of his brain, and started on his reports. 

When someone finally knocked on his door, it took a few moments for the sound to penetrate Phil's brain. He looked up, blinking, at the empty office, then to the clock on the wall, which read just after ten pm. "Shit," he muttered, rubbing his tired eyes. The glare from his computer screen mocked him as his stomach growled. He rolled his neck, trying to get the kinks out, and took a deep, calming breath. Clint's scent was still strong in his office, so deeply embedded in the carpet and the furniture from the hours Clint spent on the couch playing Angry Birds while Phil worked, but the scent filtering from the hall, though similar, wasn't Clint's. Phil schooled his expression to hide his disappointment, and called out that the door was open.

Agent Gabriel, one of Hansen's subordinates, poked his blond head into the room. "Agent Coulson?" he asked.

Phil arched an eyebrow at the omega. He'd only been with SHIELD a few months, but was older than most of SHIELD's new agents, having spent several years on the NYPD. Despite his cocky attitude, Phil thought he had potential, and he'd acquitted himself well during the op earlier that day. "Yes, Agent?" he asked, his voice neutral.

Gabriel shot him a wide smile and stepped inside, leaving only a thin crack of door open behind him. It skirted the edge of propriety, for both the workplace and alpha/omega relations, but only just. "It's late, sir, I was just checking to see if you'd eaten yet."

The words were complete innocuous by themselves, but combined with the nearly closed door and the almost predatory gleam in Gabriel's blue eyes, the offer was clear. Apparently, news of his fight with Clint had already filtered down through the ranks, and Gabriel was testing the waters.

Phil gave Gabriel his blandest smile. "I'm not entirely sure why my eating habits are any of your concern, Agent Gabriel," he said, cocking his head to the side slightly.

Gabriel's smile didn't waver. "I was about to run out and grab something from Schezwan Tower, so I thought I'd offer to bring you something."

"I don't believe that would be appropriate, Agent Gabriel, since I'm bonded--and not to you," Phil answered, his voice going stony. "But I appreciate the reminder that I should eat."

"Of course," he conceded. "Is there anything else you need, sir?" Gabriel asked, his voice dropping slightly as he lowered his gaze and tilted his head to the side in a calculated gesture of submission. It was as blatant an offer as Phil had ever seen, yet the only emotion it aroused in him was anger.

"He needs for you to get the hell out of his office before someone has to clean your blood out of the carpet," Clint growled from behind Gabriel, teeth bared threateningly. He'd showered and changed into SHIELD's standard issue sweats, but he looked just as deadly as he had in his bloody tac vest, and Phil couldn't help the fierce swell of love and pride at the sight.

Gabriel turned with a slow grace, impressing Phil in spite of himself with his brazenness and complete disregard for his own physical safety. "I was under the impression that Agent Coulson made his own decisions," Gabriel said, his voice lightly mocking.

Clint narrowed his eyes, and that was the only warning Gabriel got before he attacked. Gabriel was well-trained, but Clint was better, and, more importantly, viciously defending what was his. Gabriel neatly avoided Clint's first punch to his face, but left his midsection unguarded and open to Clint's other fist, a trick Phil saw coming a mile away. He grunted in pain, but refused to back down, throwing a punch of his own at Clint's stomach. Clint caught his hand around the wrist and twisted, using Gabriel's arm to leverage him around so his back was against Clint's chest, his arm trapped between them. Gabriel kicked backward ineffectually, and Clint caught his ankle in one hand, easily unbalancing him and sending him face-first into the carpet, Cint on top. He knelt on Gabriel's back, pinning his free hand to the floor. One of Clint's knees dug into Gabriel's spine, the other into a kidney. "And I was under the impression that puppies don't present themselves to bonded alphas, Agent Gabriel," he spat, using the derogatory term, even though Gabriel was in his mid-30s and hardly a puppy, "but it looks like we were both mistaken." Clint leaned forward, pressing his knee cruelly into Gabriel's back and twisting his arm, dragging a pained grunt from his throat.

"Agent Coulson," Gabriel pleaded, turning his head so he could look at Phil, who had gotten up during the fight and was now leaning against the front of his desk.

Phil's voice was flat as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Agent Gabriel, what you did is classified in the SHIELD manual as sexual harassment, since you continued presenting yourself after I made it clear I wasn't interested. You should consider yourself lucky that Agent Barton took your punishment into his own hands and didn't leave it for me." He glared at the man. "I don't know how the NYPD deals with this sort of thing, but SHIELD has a zero-tolerance policy." After another moment, he met Clint's eyes. "Agent Barton, please let Agent Gabriel up so he can get the hell out of my office."

"Yes, sir," Clint said, grinning viciously. He dug his knee in one last time as he climbed off, and Gabriel grunted. Clint turned his back on Gabriel and closed the distance between Phil and himself with a few quick steps. While Phil kept an eye on Gabriel's hasty retreat, Clint stroked his hand down Phil's spine possessively and rubbed his cheek against Phil's, marking him with Clint's scent.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Clint pulled Phil to him for a harsh kiss. Phil moaned softly and wrapped his arms around Clint, tugging him closer, and deepened the kiss. Clint pulled back after a moment, fisted his hands in Phil's shirtfront and dragged him to the couch. They both laughed as they fell awkwardly, with Clint on top, one leg between Phil's spread thighs, the other knee on the floor. He could feel Clint's already-hard cock through his sweats as he rutted against Phil and he couldn't quite stifle his groan. "Clint, Clint, Clint," he murmured, kissing and licking his way down from Clint's ear to the collar of his tee shirt, hands wandering down to cup Clint's ass. 

Clint reared back and started fumbling with the buttons on Phil's shirt, snarling and swearing when he couldn't get them undone fast enough, finally sending them flying as he grabbed both sides and tugged. He reached down and untucked Phil's undershirt, yanking it up bare his stomach and chest to Clint's warm hands and searching mouth. Phil gasped as Clint scraped his teeth against Phil's left nipple, then moved down an inch to suck a vivid hickey into the skin over his ribs. Clint soothed the bite with the flat of his tongue, then shifted further down toward Phil's navel and repeated the process, leaving a trail of rapidly darkening bruises on Phil's midsection.

When Clint reached the waistband of Phil's trousers, he growled at the obstruction and started undoing the belt with clumsy fingers. Phil was tempted to reach down and help, but contented himself with running his fingers through Clint's short hair as Clint pulled his pants and boxer-briefs down his thighs. Phil moaned happily as Clint rubbed his stubbly face gently against Phil's inner thigh, his nose nudging Phil's balls. He knew Clint was smelling and scent-marking him, ensuring that no one else had touched what was rightfully his and reclaiming Phil's body for himself all at once. A tension he hadn't even noticed eased in his chest as Clint moved up to mouth at the base of Phil's cock.

Phil was tempted to close his eyes to better enjoy the sensation of Clint giving him a blow job, but Clint looked so goddamn gorgeous he couldn't do it. He used one elbow to prop himself up and left the other on Clint's head as Clint swallowed his cock down, using one hand on Phil's balls and the other on the base. As he worked Phil's dick Clint moaned happily around him, and Phil fisted the upholstery to keep from thrusting up roughly into his mouth.

After several wonderfully agonizing minutes, Clint pulled off, his lips swollen and red, and grinned at Phil. "Mmmm," he said, licking his lips. "Delicious."

Phil growled and yanked Clint up by the collar of his shirt, kissing away his self-satisfied smirk. He tensed, preparing to flip them over, but Clint was apparently not finished being in charge. He pressed the flat of his palms against Phil's shoulders, pushing him down on his back and straddled Phil's hips. Clint raised up onto his knees, stripping out of his sweat pants one leg at a time, then tore off his teeshirt, leaving him crouched over Phil completely naked. Clint leaned down and nuzzled his face into Phil's neck, murmuring, "mine" over and over and rubbing his erection against the bruised skin of Phil's stomach.

"Yours, yes, yours, always yours," Phil whispered, arching up into the touch.

"Gonna fuck you now," Clint said, sitting up and reaching behind himself to press his fingers into his slick hole, "you're gonna be so deep inside me that no one will ever dig you out, not ever." 

Phil gritted his teeth as Clint removed his fingers and wrapped his hand around Phil's dick, positioning it at his entrance. Clint hissed as he slowly sunk down onto Phil's cock. Phil settled his hands on Clint's upper thighs as he bottomed out with a grunt. "You okay?" he asked, rubbing tender circles on Clint's hipbones. "You were hardly prepped."

"I'm fine," Clint growled and leaned back in, palms on either side of Phil's head, face close enough that Phil could feels Clint's breath on his neck. "Want to feel you when we're done. With every step, feel you still inside me, filling me up."

Phil bit his bottom lip when Clint started to move, rising up until just the tip of Phil's cock was still inside, then dropping back down, his muscular thighs squeezing at Phil's hips with a delicious pressure. Phil tracked a drop of sweat as it slid down Clint's chest, leaning up to lick it away. "You're amazing, Clint," he said, "so strong and gorgeous and mine."

"Yes, yes," Clint agreed with a shaky nod. "And you're mine. Nobody else's; _mine_." Phil cried out as Clint leaned close to bite down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, where Phil's bonding gland would be if he were an omega. The sharp pain only heightened Phil's pleasure, and he thrust up shamelessly into Clint's body.

After that there wasn't much breath for declarations of love as Clint rode Phil hard, the warm heat of him dragging Phil closer and closer the the edge of climax. Phil reached between them to jerk Clint off, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the leaking slit and drawing a pleased whine from Clint. The angle wasn't ideal, but Phil was determined to use everything he'd learned about Clint's preferences in the last several months to make him come before Phil did. Just as Phil felt his own balls tighten with impending orgasm, Clint's cock twitched in his hand, and he came with Phil's name on his lips. As Clint slumped forward, Phil thrust up twice more, coming with a shout and digging his fingers into Clint's hips as pleasure thrummed under his skin.

Phil cradled him close for a few moments, pressing messy kisses to the side of his face, before rolling a now-boneless Clint off him and onto the couch cushions. Phil pulled his pants up so he didn't have to hobble to get a bottle of water and a washcloth from his desk, kept in a lower drawer for just such occasions. Clint was dozing lightly on the couch when he returned, supplies in hand, and started to carefully clean the cooling come from Clint's stomach and from between his legs. When Clint was clean, Phil wiped himself off and stripped out of his dress pants and ruined button down, then cuddled up to Clint in his undershirt and boxer-briefs, mouthing at his shoulder. Since Clint wasn't in heat, his bonding gland wasn't swollen, but the near-permanent bruise from Phil's teeth was clear, and Phil spent several lazy minutes kissing and licking the spot while Clint hummed drowsily.

"'M sorry, Phil," he slurred, reaching out to rest his hand on Phil's waist.

Phil smiled and leaned in to kiss Clint, tongue probing lazily. Clint groaned and turned over onto his side to thread his fingers through Phil's hair, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. When they finally broke apart, Clint's eyes were dark with desire, but without heat pheromones speeding up the process, neither of them could get hard again quite yet. "What are you apologizing for?"

Clint took a deep breath and cupped Phil's face between his hands, forcing him to meet Clint's eyes. "You were right. I took the shot against orders, and I shouldn't have. I'm reckless and stupid, and you were right to reprimand me. As my handler and my alpha," he added, grudgingly.

Phil sighed and leaned in to press his forehead to Clint's. "You aren't stupid, Clint. Reckless, I'll give you," he added with a small smile. "What you _did_ was stupid. You, on the other hand, are _not_ stupid, and I love your brain. But you..." He stopped and started over. "I was criticizing your actions as my agent. What happens on the field shouldn't have any impact on our personal relationship."

Clint swallowed and shrugged. "But it does."

"We're only human," Phil conceded.

"Do you really think we shouldn't work together?" Clint asked, his voice perfectly even, as if that could disguise how important this was to him.

"I shouldn't have said that," Phil admitted. "I love working with you, Clint, you're the best agent we have. But," he conceded, "we need to work on separating our professional and personal feelings a little better. I should have made that more clear. That was my fault."

Clint nodded slowly, as if he were absorbing Phil's words. "We can work on that," he said finally. "But I'm not willing to let that Gabriel fucker get a free pass. He offered you _food_ , Phil. He couldn't have got clearer if he'd stripped and showed you his ass," Clint growled. "If he comes near you again, I'll beat him to a bloody pulp."

Phil hummed thoughtfully. "Would beating the hell out of him in training for the next few weeks suffice? Hansen's squad is coming up for their hand-to-hand evaluations, and Maria would appreciate the break from training."

Clint grinned viciously. "Can Tasha help?"

Phil chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to Clint's mouth. "I don't see why not. It's your training session."

"I love you, Phil," Clint said reaching up to cup his cheek.

Phil swallowed, feeling the last bastion of worry in his chest ease. "I love you too, Clint."

**Author's Note:**

> Like its prequel, this story deviates quite a lot from the common tropes associated with A/B/O stories in fandom. I've tried to balance between giving the reader enough exposition without it being all info dump, so please let me know if something seems unclear. The idea of food being used as a declaration of sexual/romantic intent is inspired by the Shapeshifter society in Illona Andrews' "Kate Daniels" series of Urban Fantasy books (which are pretty fantastic, and you should totally read them!!).
> 
> And if anyone would like to play in this sandbox, feel free! I have bits of headcanon for other characters (Steve is definitely an alpha, as is Pepper, while Natasha, Bucky, and Tony are omegas; Fury, Hill, and Bruce are betas--but the Hulk is an alpha, buried by the years of abuse Bruce suffered) but I don't expect to write another story about them.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Things We Show (The Things We Don't)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/666263) by [Lumelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumelle/pseuds/Lumelle)




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